


aegis

by loupettes



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27272014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loupettes/pseuds/loupettes
Summary: “You’re a doctor - don’t tell me you don’t have healing hands?”“I don't know what to tell you then, because I don’t have healing hands.”Ten x Rose. Pointless, harmless fluff. Set afterNew Earth.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	aegis

**Author's Note:**

> Dialogue prompt: "You're giving me a headache."

He’d been rattling on, incessantly, for far too long now. My _God_ , he was a talker. She wasn’t sure if he knew _how_ to shut up; perhaps it was a transferable skill that wasn't transferred when he regenerated. It was as though he was talking nervously, but he wasn’t nervous at all. Just, _talking_. And why was his voice so _loud_?

“Can you use your indoor voice, please?”

“My what?”

“Indoor voice. It’s like, the voice you use indoors, when you need to speak softer.”

“Well then, why’s it called an indoor voice if we’re outside?”

“It doesn’t matter where we are, I just need you to be a lot quieter than you’re being right now.”

“I see you’ve settled back into being rude.”

“I see you can’t seem to locate your _indoor voice_.”

He pouted, and she had just enough space left amidst her irritation to feel sorry for him, so she took his hand.

They’d dropped Chip - or Cassanda? - off, before taking the opportunity to visit New New York. They laughed, they ate, they chatted away with each other. He gave her the chance to get to know him a bit more, which was only fair, seeing as he still knew her inside out. But, they'd discovered he was finding out as much about himself as she was.

Night had fallen, and they’d stopped at a park bench with a cheap and rather dreadful hot chocolate from a pop-up cafe a few streets away. The TARDIS was somewhere _in_ said park, but Rose had liked the view of the city, the colourful lights of buildings soaring much higher than the ones she was used to, so they sat down to admire it. 

And then, shortly after that, he’d began talking. And for the life of her, she couldn’t get him to stop. Even after she’d asked him to, countless times. Very sweet, lovely cheerful things he was saying. And to be fair to him, he wasn’t talking _that_ much. But it seemed to Rose to be getting louder as the night went on, a ringing in her ears accompanying it and it was just starting to become too much.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Doctor?”

“What?”

“You’re giving me a headache.”

“You’re being rude again,” he pointed out, before clicking his fingers in realisation. “Ah, hold on. It’s probably the remnants of the psychograft- ”

“ -I know you’d like to think so, but it’s definitely just you.”

“No, honestly!” he protested, a little too eagerly. He stood up, chucking his hot chocolate that had long since been finished into the bin, holding out his hand and pulling her up. “Your brain was shoved to the side to make way for Cassandra’s - goodness, even saying it out loud sounds like a nightmare - although I _say_ that, it also happened to me, and I have a whole _load_ of brain to squash to the side! _Not_ that that means your brain isn’t a big as mine - lovely brain you have, marvellous, tip top- “

“ _Doctor!”_

“Right, yes.”

They’d found their way back to the TARDIS and he pulled out his key, watching her closely as she leaned against the door frame. He let her on first and she stumbled awkwardly over to the nearest thing she could clutch on to, which just so happened to be a large coral of the console room.

“It’s really that bad?” he asked.

She groaned, incapable of giving him a more verbal acknowledgement.

His voice began to fill with concern. “Rose?”

“I need to sit down,” she breathed, turning to lower herself to the floor. She hugged her legs and buried her face in her knees.

“Let me take a look?”

He was worried now, she could hear it. But she didn’t have much time to observe anything else, as the next second she found herself lying much more horizontally, an anxious Doctor hovering over her and his cool hand on her forehead. Two fingers pressed down on the pulse point of her wrist and she moaned, closing her eyes to protect them from the piercing light that had instantly stung her eyes.

“Rose?”

“Mmm?”

“Can you hear me properly?” He was relieved, she knew that much, but he still sounded a little panicked. She was still adjusting to this new new Doctor, so she wasn’t quite well versed in this new estuary tone of his, but he was quite similar to his predecessor in connotation. 

“Whurameye?”

He began combing the hair from her forehead, soothing her skin. His hands were a lot softer, she noted, and she felt her pulse slow to a much gentler rhythm. “It’s alright, don’t try to speak. You just sort of fainted.”

“Mmm, great.”

Christ, her _head_. It felt _dreadful_ , like a thick rubber band kept getting plucked and pinged around it. 

“Not especially. Can you open your eyes for me?”

She grunted, hoping it might sound more pleasant than her the more desired “ _sod_ right _off_ ” alternative. But something about the way his thumb felt as is stroked her temple persuaded her to comply, so she opened them the smallest amount, squinting when light reached her corneas.

“ _Fuck_ , that’s bright.”

“What colour?” A reason unbeknownst to her, he was panicking once more.

“What colour is _bright_?”

“Yes! Do you see any colour?”

She shook her head, wincing as she felt her brain smash violently into every possible corner of the inside of her skull. “I don’t know, what’s the colour of the TARDIS?”

“You can see the TARDIS then? Can you see me?”

“Regrettably.”

He didn’t laugh, which was concerning. Not even a tut or a playful prod in the arm. Instead, she heard the sonic screwdriver humming in a lower decibel than she was used to, like it was working in slow motion or on low battery. “Sounds ominous,” she muttered.

“You’ve been travelling with me for almost a year now, I’m a little worried for you if you don’t know the sound of my sonic screwdriver by now.”

His voice was a little more playful, she was relieved to hear.

“Still can't believe you have a sodding _screwdriver_ that's sonic.”

“You know what? I think I liked it better when you were passed out.”

She waved her arm in the hopes of whacking some part of his body. Judging by his “ _ouch!_ ”, she’d been successful in reaching either his arm or his face. One of them; she opened one eye to see him clutching his upper arm and she smirked. 

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

He jumped to his feet, legs either side of her and hooked his hands under her arms. She grabbed onto the wool of his coat arm, surprised that she wasn’t met with the softer cotton of his pinstriped suit. It was usually the first thing the last him did; he’d take his coat off as soon as he walked through the doors. She sighed; she didn’t have to move her head to feel the painful pinch of that memory. 

She turned her attention back to this other one, this taller and thinner man - a quite attractive - well, ok, _very_ attractive - perhaps _too_ attractive man and with _bloody_ _great_ hair - trying so desperately to carry the weight of his friend so tired. He was doing remarkably well, she permitted, considering how she was fairly certain her body was double the weight in her less lucid, dazed condition. “I’d give anything for you to carry me right now.”

She'd slung her arm over his shoulder, practically clinging on to him, and was largely being supported by the hold he had on her waist. “We’ve _both_ seen my arms and I think we could rightly assume that wouldn’t end well for either of us.”

“Mmm. Even feels a bit like you’re struggling now.”

“Oi! I regenerated not that long ago, remember! I’m still a little weak.”

She scoffed. “You’ve been using that excuse a little _too_ long now. I’m calling it.”

He mirrored her mockery. “When was the last time _you_ burst into flames and rewrote your entire biology? _I’m_ the one who gets to call it and I’m exploiting it for all its worth.”

Thankfully, they arrived at her room a lot sooner than she thought they would; the TARDIS must have reconfigured the locations of the rooms to help her. Making it look a hell of a lot smoother than the effort the Doctor was putting into helping her. She practically dove for the bed, squishing her face against the softest and comfiest pillow she ever thought she could feel. “My head hurts too much now, it’s starting to _really_ piss me off,” she joked, although feeling it a little too close to the truth to find it funny. “Can you find me some pyjamas?”

He looked around; an endless pile - _piles_ \- of clothes, scattered across the floor, her bed, her chair - goodness, were there even any in her wardrobe? Pairs of shoes that, funnily enough, were never in an actual _pair_ \- a grey trainer wedged under her suitcase, a stray black 4-inch heel - heels! What the _hell_ does she need _heels_ for?! - cast thoughtlessly on her bed. Did she _sleep_ in the heel?

“Rose, I can’t find anything in this room. I’m not even sure I could find your _room_ in this room.”

“Well, then, give me that.”

She gestured over to him, moving to sit upright against the bedframe.

He looked around him. “What?”

“That shirt you’re wearing.”

“Pfft, yeah right!” he scoffed incredulously. “Get your own!”

“I just asked you to _get me_ my own but you failed in doing that. So it's only fair you give me yours.”

He yielded, the logic behind it suspicious but he unbuttoned it nonetheless. At what point do _his_ clothes become _their_ clothes?

“Here.” He tossed it to her.

“Thank you kindly.” She toed her boots off and unzipped her jacket. She flopped back down onto the bed and threw her arm over her face, grimacing. “Can’t you do anything to this head of mine?”

“Dangerous question, that.”

“You’re a d _octor -_ don’t tell me you _don’t_ have healing hands?”

“I don't know what to tell you then, because I don’t have healing hands.”

She pulled herself back up, making a start on removing her trousers. She knew she _should_ feel self-conscious, but she was, firstly, too tired to care, and secondly, too used to going unnoticed - physically speaking, of course. Trousers divorced from her body, she scanned her dresser for her bottle of makeup remover - she’ll be damned if she wakes up feeling even _more_ groggy. She spotted it, heaving herself up to reach for it, before she latched onto her chair, holding herself steady.

And then she found herself, once more, waking up to a slightly _less_ worried Doctor than before hovering over her, his right eyebrow raised. 

“You’re lucky you had all these clothes to soften to fall.”

“And you were complaining about them not 2 minutes ago.”

“I know, I take it back.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry? How hard did I hit my head? Because I could have sworn I just heard _the Doctor_ _retract_ _something_.”

He rolled his eyes, once more pulling her up to her feet. She stabilised herself, holding onto his arms until her head settled on just one copy of the image before her.

“I don’t _need_ to help you into bed, y’know.”

“Yes, but you’re a true Time Lord, a gentle giant, a - ”

“A g _entle giant_?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “Harmless. Little kitten.”

“Bloody hell! I might've run from my past a bit _too_ far.”

She searched the floor, ignoring his moaning. “Where’d that shirt go?”

“Still on your bed, just as it was when it landed.”

She waved her hand dismissively and he grabbed it for her, but had to stifle a laugh when he saw her trying, with all her might, to pull her t-shirt over her head. She’d got it stuck, _of course_ , after having done up one or two of those buttons that he most certainly did _not_ notice had been loosened whilst under the command of Cassandra. He helped tug it up and over her head, needing at least something to focus on other than a near-naked Rose standing before him. Was that _lace_? Thankfully, he didn’t get time to take a second glance, as she’d covered herself with his shirt and began buttoning it up.

He folded her top neatly, gesturing it to her as he did. “See? S’called _folding_.”

“You know who you sound like?”

“Don’t say your mum-”

“My mum.”

He groaned, mumbling something along the lines of dropping her back off to live with her mum permanently. She chuckled and shook her head, reaching up through the back of his shirt to unclasp her bra. She sifted through the arms to pull the straps down, manoeuvring her bra back through and tossing it on the floor. She laughed as his gaze drifted to it, and hovered there just a _little_ longer than she would have expected the old Doctor's to have.

“Didn’t think you noticed that sorta stuff.”

He shook his head, perplexed. “Who says I don’t notice?”

“Well, _do_ you?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re an attractive human female Rose, by 21st-century Western standards. Don’t need to be human to spot that.”

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Almost as sweet as you calling me “ _foxy_ ”.”

She tried her best not to scream out of sheer embarrassment. “Oh, great. I was really hoping you’d remember that. And I was _really_ hoping you’d bring it up.”

She saw him smile just as she felt a needle the size of Rome stab her brain. “Ouch!” she cried, hauling the covers over her head to cocoon her entirely. “ _Fuck_ , my fucking head is fucking killing me.”

He pulled back the tip of the covers, peeking inside. “Did that bump on the head replace breaths between words with swear words?”

She pushed the covers down entirely then, arms flopping either side of her. She looked at him, pleading. “ _Please_ , isn’t there anything you can do to help? Everything is so bright and my head is _burning_.”

He narrowed his eyes in concern once more. “ _Burning?_ Really?” 

“Literally feels like it's on fire.”

“ _On fire?”_ He patted frantically at his chest before remembering he was only in a t-shirt. He scanned the room, reaching over for the door handle when be located his jacket hanging from it. He rummaged around, pulling out his sonic screwdriver when he finally found it. "Rose, look at me.”

“What’s got you all worried?” She squinted against the light now being shone directly into her eyes. _“Ouch!”_ She yanked her head away and he tilted his apologetically, his features softening under his regain of posture. “You’ve been laughing and joking with me about it and now you’re terrified.”

“I’m not _terrified,” h_ e protested. “But your head shouldn’t be burning.”

“Ok…” She tugged on the cuffs of his shirt, bringing them all the way down to cover her hands. She twisted the fabric nervously. “Should I be worried?”

He pulled back from her so fast her breath caught in her throat. “Nah! It’s fine, nothing to worry about. Right, you. Bed.”

She leapt forward, grabbing his arm tightly and pulling him back to her. “Nope! Sorry, but _you_ have to stay.”

“I do?”

She held on to his arm, furiously kicking away at the covers pulling to make room besides her without letting him get away. “Yep. What if I faint in the middle of sleep?”

“Do you _know_ how sleeping and fainting work?”

“Just shut up, get into bed, stroke my hair and sing to me.”

He scoffed. “No, ta.”

She released him of one of her hands, heart fluttering when he didn’t take that opportunity to protest and retreat entirely. “Oh, come on, I was only joking. Don’t think I’d ever want to hear you sing.”

“Do you _want_ me to look after you tonight or would you rather _faint in your sleep_?”

“Looked after,” she beamed, continuing to yank him down further. He finally gave in, climbing into bed next to her and she wiggled over to make more room for him. He pulled a pillow out from behind him, adjusting it so that he could slouch back comfortably. She wiggled on back to him, curling snugly into his side; he was almost certain the little minx had made up the whole headache thing just to trick him into a cuddle. Well, it worked. 

He sighed wistfully. “Time Lord, oncoming storm, last of his kind, Rose Tyler’s pillow.”

“Problem?”

“Not at all. Merely an observation.”

He felt her smile happily into his chest and he sighed achingly in response. She was _right there;_ he could reach out to her if he wanted. It must have been some sort of adrenaline encouraging him to move his hand before his mind caught up to it and he stopped himself, hand hovering over her head. She nuzzled into him, a gesture so heartwarming that the adrenaline triumphed, and his hand lowered to her hair. She mumbled happily when she felt it, and he ever so gently ran the backs of his fingers across the soft strands of her hair, smoothing it down and repeating the motion tenderly. Her fingers started to curl inwards; her hand relaxing against his chest alerted him to her approaching state of slumber. 

“Mmm. S’nice. How are you doing that? Thought you said you didn’t have healing hands?”

“Regeneration cycle still, sending you little waves of healing.”

“Ha,” she scoffed. “No, you’re not.”

“Nah, I’m not. But wouldn’t that have been sweet?”

“Certainly nicer than “ _you’re an attractive human female by 21st-century Western standards._ ””

“Ah, see! I’m getting better.”

Her reply was interrupted by a yawn. She winced, her voice breaking. “My head _really_ is killing me.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he whispered regrettably. He really did wish there was something he could do, something to ease this pain. Truth be told his own had been killing him too. Not quite to the same extent as hers as his brain was a lot more malleable, plus she’d been contained by Cassandra for longer periods of time. He looked down at her, watching as she twitched, uncomfortable and in pain. All he could do for now was stay with her, stroke her hair and let her hold on to him and he could certainly do at least that.

“S’alright. Not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” he whispered it, oh so quietly, and with such sorrow behind it. She couldn’t quite understand what he’d meant by it; how could this have been his fault? She retraced the events of the day. Before she’d stumbled upon Cassandra, she was about to join him in the lift, which she didn’t, and _that_ wasn’t his fault. So she dug further; was he perhaps blaming himself for bringing her to New New York in the first place? No, she thought. That didn’t quite add up either. Was there any further back left to go? 

“I have a niggling feeling there’s something you’re not telling me.”

He chuckled. “There are a lot of thoughts in my head at any given time of any given day, Rose, if I were to tell you all of them then you really _would_ have a banging headache.”

“Nope, there’s one I wanna extract. The one on the tip of your tongue right now.”

He sighed, the kind of sigh that was directed inwards, riddled with regret and remorse. She didn’t know this new man half as much as she knew the old one, but she still knew him well enough to know he was biting his tongue. 

“This is nice,” he said, and she _knew_ it was a replacement for something he didn't want to say instead.

She closed her eyes. She’d pry it out of him eventually, she was sure. For now, though, she let his words echo in her mind. “Mmm, yeah it is.”

It was quiet and peaceful; all that could be heard was the sound of his fingers caressing through her hair. 

He closed his eyes and fought against his longing. This is what friends do, right? She could be interpreting this as a close friendship. She seemed to be, by any means. He could feel her heart beating steadily against his chest, and her pulse was pleasantly, though regrettably also, subdued. This wasn’t anything to her other than a sweet gesture shared by friends. God, if she _knew._ If she knew how much it pained him, the ache at either side of his chest when she was near. When she was _far._ Whenever she occupied his thoughts, which was far too often for his own good. If she knew _any_ of this, well, she’d never be able to look at him again. Nine-hundred-sodding years old. _Nine hundred -_ committed _genocide_ , full of darkness and suffering, pining helplessly for this young human who had done nothing to deserve it.

“How's your head?” he murmured, forcing himself out of his thoughts.

It took her a moment to respond, and her voice was heavy and sluggish when she did. “’s better.”

“That's what I like to hear. Tell you what, we’ll have a quiet day in tomorrow, yeah? Couple of films - _duvet day_ , I believe they call it.”

“Doctor?” Her voice was breathless, the syllables outstretched as she fought to speak them.

“Indoor voice?”

He waited for her reply that did not come; he was greeted instead by her soft snores. 


End file.
